


After the Dust

by LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys/pseuds/LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys
Summary: Dean noticed right away. Of course he did. He knew how to read every minute facial expression and twitch that Sam had. He had a lifetime of practice. He could recognize without a thought the way Sam tilted his head when he was angry and trying not to lash out, and he knew how Sam would clasp and unclasp his fingers when he was nervous. And Dean especially knew how to recognize the way Sam would pinch his lips tightly together when he was trying not to grin, but had definitely found Dean’s joke funny.So when Sam flinched at Dean’s grip on his shoulder, Dean noticed.





	After the Dust

Dean noticed right away. Of course he did. He knew how to read every minute facial expression and twitch that Sam had. He had a lifetime of practice. He could recognize without a thought the way Sam tilted his head when he was angry and trying not to lash out, and he knew how Sam would clasp and unclasp his fingers when he was nervous. And Dean especially knew how to recognize the way Sam would pinch his lips tightly together when he was trying not to grin, but had definitely found Dean’s joke funny.

So when Sam flinched at Dean’s grip on his shoulder, Dean noticed.

It was right after Sam and Cas had come back from that case in Arkansas where Sam had apparently worn a cardigan… and had a wife.

When Cas left to check on Jack, Sam was finally honest with Dean after being evasive for days. He had been running himself ragged and he explained to Dean that he couldn’t stand being in the bunker because all he could see were all the hunters they had lost to Michael.

“I just need some time,” Sam said.

“Okay,” Dean replied simply, grabbing Sam’s shoulder in a quick squeeze of assurance. Sam flinched at Dean’s touch. And Dean noticed. Of course he did. But he brushed it off.

Sam was just jumpy, Dean reasoned. He had been ever since the wall in his mind broke all those years ago - literally unleashing hell on him. Sam had never fully recovered. He flinched all the time now, every unexpected loud noise seemed to almost shatter him. Sam was the strongest person Dean knew, but he wasn’t without his scars. Dean tried to be careful about even setting a beer bottle down too hard on the table for fear of startling Sam. One time Jack had dropped his cereal bowl, the ceramic dish crashing into pieces on the kitchen floor. Sam had reacted strongly, standing up from the table with shaking urgency, eyes wide with undue terror. Jack had almost cried. Maybe from embarrassment, maybe from Sam’s startled reaction. But as he always did, Sam soothed the kid with calming words, helping him clean up the mess. “Hey. It’s okay, Jack. I break stuff all the time.” Dean was pretty sure he was the only one who had noticed the way Sam’s hands shook as he recovered from the excess adrenaline pumping through him.

Sam was jumpy. So Dean figured Sam’s reaction didn’t mean anything. Maybe Dean’s touch had just been unexpected. No big deal.

But then it happened again.

Sam and Dean were heading in to town to buy groceries, music thumping loudly through the Impala as they passed a nondescript “Welcome to Lebanon” sign. Sam reached over and turned the music down, “C'mon, Dean. We’re in town. Let’s not disturb the peace.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, grandma,” he said. He reached over to playfully flick Sam. His finger had barely made contact with Sam’s ear when Sam jerked so violently that his knee hit the dashboard.

Dean yanked his hand back to the wheel and turned to look at Sam, brows drawn tight together with concern. His brother refused to make eye contact with him.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Dean stopped. Didn’t mean to what? Why in the world had Sam reacted like that? Had Dean scared him somehow? Dean had barely even touched him.

“It’s fine,” Sam mumbled.

As they pulled up in front of the town’s tiny grocery store, Dean glanced at Sam again. Anxiety was practically dripping off of his little brother. His broad shoulders were hunched, his breathing uneven. Dean felt his heart somersault when he noticed Sam’s hands. Sam was digging the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left in a terrifyingly familiar gesture. The habit was a remnant from his hallucinations of Lucifer. The cut on his hand had healed years ago, and the scar had faded. Dean hadn’t even seen Sam rub at his palm like that since he couldn’t remember when.

“Dude,” Dean said softly. “What’s goin’ on?”

Sam let his hands drop into his lap. “It’s nothing,” he said. But when he looked at Dean with wide, glistening eyes, Dean knew he was full of crap. Before Dean could say anything more, Sam got out of the car and Dean was forced to let the issue drop. By the time they were headed back to the bunker, Sam seemed back to normal, scolding Dean for buying an excessive amount of chocolate bars “for Jack”. But Dean made an effort to keep his hands firmly on the steering wheel despite Sam’s apparent recovery.

A week later, Sam and Dean stumbled into a hotel room in Iowa after what was supposed to be an easy salt-and-burn case. As their luck would have it, the dead girl’s bones hadn’t been the only thing tying her to earth. They had been forced to search her mother’s house for whatever was keeping her around. It turned out to be a locket with the girl’s picture in it. As Dean melted the locket down, Sam had been fending the ghost off with an iron poker. Before the hazy, pale shadow of the girl lit up in flames along with the locket, she had managed to toss a knife at Sam. Sam had dodged the projectile, but not without it making a decent cut across his abdomen.

“Man,” Dean said as they walked into their hotel room. “When was the last time it was as simple as ‘burn the bones’?”

Sam chuckled. “You would hate it if they made it easy on us.”

“Fair enough,” Dean replied. “And how else would you get more cool scars?” He gestured for Sam to sit on the bed as he pulled the rickety wooden chair from the desk over to Sam’s side.

Dean sat in the chair and reached a hand out, grabbing the bottom of Sam’s shirt to pull it up, fingers barely brushing against Sam’s stomach. Before Dean could even begin to lift Sam’s shirt, Sam flinched, a quick, violent tremor running down his tall frame. The sudden movement startled Dean, causing him to slam back into his chair, knocking it an inch or two away from Sam.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean said, voice louder than he had intended. “What the hell?”

“Sorry,” Sam said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Dean sighed. Now he was really getting concerned. But he needed to be able to deal with Sam’s actual, physical injury before dealing with whatever this was.

“May I?” Dean asked, an edge to his voice. He held up the cloth he had grabbed from his duffle in question.

Sam blinked and swallowed thickly. He nodded.

“Okay,” Dean said. He moved very slowly this time, making sure Sam was watching before he touched him again. They were both silent as Dean carefully cleaned and bandaged Sam’s cut. It didn’t even need stitches. He was lucky.

“Good as new,” Dean said when he finished. He moved from the uncomfortable chair to sit on the edge of his own bed, directly across from Sam, their knees almost touching.

“Now are you gonna tell me why you’ve been so jumpy all the time?” Dean asked. “This is really getting out of hand, Sam.”

Sam wouldn’t look at Dean. He fiddled with the end of his shirt, fingers curling and plucking at the fabric.

“It’s 'cause you hugged me,” he said finally.

Dean let out a huff. “Hate to break it to ya, but I didn’t. Unless cleaning a wound now counts as a hug.”

Sam shook his head. “Just forget it, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He nudged Sam’s foot with his own. “No, c'mon. I just don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Tell me what’s been going on with you. I can’t have you hitting the ceiling every time I touch you. It makes cleaning you up after a hunt a little awkward.”

Sam finally looked at Dean. “Before you left to see Mom. At Donna’s cabin. You… hugged me.”

Before the Mal'ak box. Dean remembered that hug. Of course he did. He had known it was a dumb idea. A seemingly unprompted hug was bound to make Sam suspicious. To be fair, Dean hadn’t planned to hug Sam. But when he had looked at Sam in that moment, thinking he would never see his little brother again, he had acted on instinct. He remembered the way Sam had jerked under his touch when he wrapped his arms around him, his cheek pressed into Sam’s hair. “Take care, Sammy.”

“Um, okay,” Dean stammered. “But what does that have to do with-”

“Listen, Dean,” Sam interrupted him, his voice suddenly much louder than it had been. His words came quick. “It’s stupid. And I… I’ve been trying to stop. But part of me just… some part of me is trapped in that moment. And the idea that you hugging me - or touching me at all - must mean something bad is coming. Like you’re leaving again. I get this terrible pit in my stomach every time. It feels just like what I felt when I realized you had taken some books from the bunker that day. I knew you were planning something awful and you weren’t telling me. I can’t control it, okay? It’s some sort of reflex that I’ve had since then.”

Dean felt like Sam had just punched him in the stomach. Touch was Dean’s natural response to most things. It was how he comforted people - especially Sam. It was how he comforted himself. And now he couldn’t even pat Sam’s shoulder without practically causing an anxiety attack? He stared in silence at Sam until his little brother cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked down at his hands. Now Dean noticed how much they were shaking.

“Sam…” Dean muttered, automatically reaching a hand out to grab Sam’s knee. He stopped right before he made contact and pulled his hand back. A knot was starting to form in his throat, making it painful to swallow.

“So you need me to, uh…?” Dean’s eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. “You need me to stay at a safe distance?”

Sam’s head jerked up at that. “No, Dean,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I… I don’t want you to…”

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said, interrupting Sam’s stammering. “So we’ll just - we’ll work on it?”

Sam nodded, holding Dean’s eye contact for a moment. When he looked away again, Dean noticed that Sam was rubbing his thumb into the invisible scar on the palm of his hand. Seeing Sam’s brokenness so clearly - part of it showing in wounds that Dean had thought healed long ago - tipped Dean over the edge of a cliff he was barely conscious of standing on. As he fell, his heart cracked and bleeding, he could only think that he needed to catch Sam. As had been the case for as long as Dean could remember, all that mattered was Sam.

Dean reached forward slowly, getting Sam’s attention with a soft, “hey.” Sam watched as Dean took hold of his left hand, pressing his thumb gently where Sam’s own had been roughly digging in.

“Let’s start with this,” Dean said. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Sam blinked harshly as he stared down at Dean’s hand holding his own. He looked up at Dean, eyes wide and full of emotion. There was still pain in his gaze, but Dean could also see hope as he gave a tiny smile and said, “Okay, Dean.”


End file.
